


Black Castles and Blue Pencils

by geekprincess26



Series: Blue Pencils [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Breakup Recovery, Bullies Beware, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 14:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12460152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekprincess26/pseuds/geekprincess26
Summary: Sansa Stark is stuck at a boring chess tournament.  When Theon Greyjoy makes it interesting in all the wrong ways, Sansa gets an opportunity to right an old wrong...and to find out just how far she'll go to defend her unpopular friend Jon Snow.





	Black Castles and Blue Pencils

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 2 ("Kings and Queens") of Jonsa Week 2017, organized by the lovely ladies at @jonsa-week over on Tumblr.

Sansa Stark’s hand rose to her mouth barely in time to cover the huge yawn emerging from it. For at least the fourth time that morning, she silently cursed the rule disallowing any food or drink in Casterly Rock Preparatory School’s community room during academic events. She could really use a cup of coffee or two – maybe even three, given the unearthly hour at which she’d had to climb out of bed on a Saturday morning to drive Bran to his chess tournament. That responsibility normally rested with one of their parents, but Ned Stark was out of town on business and Catelyn Stark with Rickon at his final rehearsal for the Wintertown Community Theater’s spring play. And Arya, who was technically old enough to drive Bran, flat-out refused to get up at half-past seven on a Saturday morning for any reason at all.

Now Sansa was stuck in a brown metal folding chair without any coffee at all and without her sketch pad, which she normally took with her everywhere, to keep her from falling asleep. She’d meant to grab it on her way out the door, but she’d hit the snooze button on her alarm clock one too many times and had to run around the house like a chicken with its head cut off in order to have any hope of getting Bran to his tournament on time. Her normally placid brother had snapped at her as she’d sprinted up the stairs to retrieve her purse from her bedroom, and she’d been so flustered by his uncharacteristic outburst that she had forgotten the sketch pad altogether. She’d also forgotten that her phone was charging on her nightstand instead of tucked into her purse.

So Sansa found herself without any means of staying awake at all except for shifting in her chair, staring at the clock, and ducking out into the hallway for a drink from the water fountain between matches. That, and greeting Jon Snow, her neighbor and friend, when he gave her a wave and a shy grin as he and his fellow competitors in the tournament’s high school division arrived for their portion of the event. Sansa grinned back at once. Jon had, after all, earned that and more from her for taking her to Casterly Rock’s Valentine’s Day ball three months prior when Harry Hardyng, her ex-boyfriend, had dumped her not two hours before the dance had begun. Casterly Rock’s rumor mill had jumped into overdrive since then, even and especially among the girls Sansa had once considered her closest friends. That had only widened the gap between them, which was largely rooted in Sansa’s involvement with the art department of the community theater program at Jon’s behest. Jon, with his penchant for computers and all things the other girls considered nerdy as well as his family’s lack of money, belonged nowhere near Casterly Rock’s elite, and Sansa knew it. Since Valentine’s Day, however, she’d cared about it less and less and instead had spent more and more of her time outside of school hours hanging out with Jon, Bran, their sister Arya, and Jon’s friends. To her surprise, she’d found herself giggling over Jon’s puns and liking more than a few of the unpopular indie folk songs Jon and his group favored. He might brood a lot, but he never gossiped, and neither he nor Arya nor any of their friends criticized Sansa’s fashion or makeup choices. So when Sansa had had to choose between spending the second Saturday night of April attending her senior prom without Harry or playing games with Jon, Arya, and their friends, the choice had been easier than she’d thought. She hadn’t understood all of the games everyone had brought to the Starks’ basement recreation room, but she’d still ended up having more fun than she’d had since she could remember. It had even been worth the cutting remarks she’d gotten from her former friend Jeyne Poole and the odd looks and snide whispers she’d gotten from nearly everybody else. 

Now Bran was beginning his semifinal match, and the tournament was reaching the end of its third hour. Sansa yawned again and wished for the thousandth time that she had paid more attention to him or Jon when they’d explained the rules of chess to her over the past few weeks. However, she simply could not keep track of all of the different pieces or in what direction each one of them was allowed to move. All she could remember for certain was that players tried to capture as many of their opponents’ pieces as they could, but only won the game when they captured the opponent’s king. Even that had confused Sansa, who had wondered why the ultimate objective of the game was not for a player to capture the opponent’s queen, which after all was the most powerful piece on the board since the player could move her any number of spaces in any direction when he used her.

Sansa yawned again just as Bran replaced one of his opponent’s pieces – a castle, she realized when she saw the telltale turret crowning the piece, although she could not for the life of her remember the more technically correct name that serious chess players called it – with one of his smaller pieces. He set the castle neatly to the side of the board.

“Check,” he said in that quiet monotone that only Bran could produce, and that he only did produce when at his moments of greatest concentration. The other player, a brown-eyed girl perhaps a year or two younger than Bran, scowled fiercely at him and relented only at a sharp look from her teacher.

“Bored already, are we, Stark?” A snide voice right next to her left ear made Sansa jump out of her seat. She threw out her arms just in time to keep from falling facedown on the floor, but the impact jarred both of her arms from wrist to shoulder, and she emitted a pained yelp. Several moments passed before she managed to push herself back up to the chair, and she almost yelped again when she saw Mr. Mallister, her algebra teacher and one of the monitors for today’s tournament.

“Everything all right, Miss Stark?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Sansa gulped and nodded, barely managing a hushed, “Sorry – yes, Mr. Mallister,” before Mr. Mallister’s turned to her right and raised his other eyebrow.

“And you, Mr. Greyjoy?” he inquired in a much sterner voice. Sansa whirled in her seat just in time to catch a cat-eating grin on the face of Theon Greyjoy, the cause of her fall, who was now perched in the seat next to hers without a care in the world.

“Better than ever, Mr. Mallister,” he replied. The teacher narrowed his eyes.

“See that it stays that way, Mr. Greyjoy,” he replied before walking off. Sansa threw a dirty look at Theon, whose grin only widened.

“Can’t help it if you’re not paying attention to your own brother, Stark,” he drawled, keeping his voice low enough to avoid any further attention from the teachers. He shook his head dramatically. “Such a beautiful game. Too bad such a beautiful girl isn’t interested in it.” He wiggled one eyebrow suggestively at Sansa, who narrowed her eyes at him, and grabbed her hand. Theon had been wiggling and winking and leering and otherwise trying to persuade her to go out with him ever since Harry had broken up with her. Sansa, who had never forgotten how Theon had bullied Bran back in middle school and still loved pranking and shooting snide remarks at Jon, had tried everything from refusing him to ignoring him, but Theon, as always, was annoyingly persistent.

Sansa pushed Theon’s hand away. “I’m still not interested in you, either, Greyjoy,” she muttered now, “so, for the millionth time, shove off.”

Theon only winked at her. “Sure, you’re not, Stark,” he smirked. Sansa opened her mouth to spit a retort at him, but she caught sight of Mr. Mallister a few yards away, bit her tongue, and rose as quietly as she could to move to the chair furthest on the row from Theon. 

“Check,” said Bran again, and Sansa grinned as her brother plucked yet another of his opponent’s pieces off the board. She glared again, but Bran, as usual, did not so much as blink. The teacher monitoring their match reset the timer to begin the next turn. Not many pieces remained on the board, Sansa noticed, and of those that were left, most belonged to Bran. Her grin widened.

Not long afterward, Bran called “Checkmate.” Once their monitor had verified it, Sansa and the remainder of the audience applauded. Bran held out his hand to his opponent, who scowled but shook it nonetheless.

“See you next year, Stark,” she declared, sounding more like a queen giving an order than an opponent newly defeated. One corner of Bran’s mouth quirked upward.

“Next year, Mormont,” he agreed, his tone as placid as ever, and the girl released his hand and stalked off. Bran rose and joined his teammates as they formed a line to file out of the room so the high school division could hold its final match. Sansa grinned and gave him a thumbs-up, a gesture she would never have used two months prior. That got both corners of Bran’s mouth to twitch, and Sansa decided not to be sorry for having to wake up at 7:30 AM.

No sooner had Bran disappeared through the door than the high schoolers traipsed into the room. Jon shuffled in at the end of the line, his ever-present blue pencil tucked behind his ear amidst his riot of brown curls. Sansa flashed him a smile, but Jon was focused too deeply on the chess board in front of him to notice.

“Awwww.” Theon had transplanted himself next to Sansa once again. “Lovers’ quarrel, Stark? Boyfriend ignoring you?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “In case you hadn’t heard, Greyjoy, I don’t have a boyfriend,” she hissed. “Not that I’d consider you as an option if you were the last person on earth.”

Theon only grinned. “Keep telling yourself that, Stark,” he said and reached into his pocket. He fished out a wadded-up scrap of paper and tossed it in Jon’s direction. It hit Jon straight on the back of the head. He jumped in his seat and glanced sharply around the room for the source of the interruption. That earned him a concerned look from Sam Tarly, his best friend and chess teammate, and earned Theon the very dirtiest look Sansa could muster. Theon only grinned more broadly. Sansa only wished she could drag him outside and curse him volubly instead of silently. Focus, Jon and Bran had both told her, was the chess player’s bread and butter, and losing it usually meant losing the match.

No sooner had Jon adjusted his pencil behind his ear and sat down to face his opponent, a petite brunette girl from Vale Academy, than Theon lobbed another paper missile at him. This one struck Jon on the shoulder, and again he started in his seat and hastily glanced about him. So did the teacher assigned to monitor the match, and Theon lost his grin and sat straight up in his seat at once.

“Do that again,” Sansa hissed at him when the teacher had started the timer to begin the match, “and I’ll report you to Mallister.”

Theon stuck out his lower lip. “And stop the match right in the middle of poor Lover Boy’s turn?” he mocked. Sansa glared at him. Theon smirked back, but Sansa did not move her eyes. Perhaps if she watched him for the duration of the match, he would not risk disrupting Jon again. It was a faint hope, but better than none.

Or not, Sansa realized five minutes later, when Theon scooted his chair far enough for it to collide with the empty one next to it. The resulting clanging noise startled both Jon and his opponent and earned both Theon and Sansa a pointed stare from Mr. Mallister. Sansa’s face flushed. She folded her hands in her lap and lowered her head. 

After a few moments, the match resumed. Jon’s opponent promptly moved one of his pieces off the board – it was a castle again, Sansa noticed – and Jon grimaced and shook his head. So did Sansa. Damn Theon anyway, she thought. If he had not broken Jon’s concentration during the previous turn, Jon might have made a different move and not lost his castle.

Screw you, Greyjoy, she spat to herself. Only when she sensed Theon turning to grin at her did she realize she had muttered it loud enough for her to hear.

“Why, I think I’ll take you up on that offer, Stark,” he whispered. When Sansa clenched her jaw to keep from snapping back at him, he continued. “At least part of it. Maybe a little kiss? With a little tongue? A little bite? No? Maybe you do want Lover Boy to be your lover, huh?” Sansa only clenched her jaw more tightly in response, and Theon slouched back against his chair and shrugged.

“Too bad, Stark,” he muttered. “You’re missing out. Lover Boy has no talent with his tongue. You’d like mine a lot better…along with a few other things.” He swiveled his hips suggestively, but just then Mr. Mallister turned back to face them, and Sansa had to bite back the retort on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she sighed deeply and stared straight at the table in the middle of the room, where Jon’s opponent was frowning deeply at the chessboard. She moved one of her castle pieces just as the buzzer sounded to signal the end of her turn.

Jon, now staring fiercely at the board, reached back to adjust the pencil behind his ear, as was his wont when deep in thought. He raised his hand as if to grab one of his pieces, but then withdrew it and went back to staring. He reached back up, and his hand was almost touching his pencil when yet another of Theon’s projectiles smacked him on the elbow. Jon started and bit his lip, and Sansa could almost hear him cursing its source. The teacher next to them rotated a pointed stare from one end of the audience chairs to the other, but it was clear that she could not tell who had disrupted Jon, and Mr. Mallister was consulting with the scorekeepers in the far corner of the room. Sansa bit her lip as Jon frowned back at the board, trying to regain his focus, and finally selected another piece to move.

She bit it harder during the next turn, when Jon’s opponent promptly captured another of his larger pieces. This one had a rounded top. Sansa thought it was called a priest, or perhaps a pope. Either way, it was an important piece, and Jon had just lost it. Worse still, the girl smiled thinly and announced, “Check.”

Jon’s face fell, and his frustration sent a blinding wave of anger through Sansa’s gut. Jon, who had taken the blame for the fight Theon had instigated with Sansa after bullying Bran in order to protect Sansa from the consequences; Jon, whose mother, Lyanna, was not well off like the rest of Casterly Rock’s parents and could sorely use the prize money from today’s tournament, even if neither of them would admit it; Jon, who had taken Sansa to the Valentine’s Day ball when Harry had ditched her, even though he hated dancing – Jon had deserved to have Sansa set things to rights for him long ago, and now was a late and uncomfortable time for her to start, but start and finish it she would. She drew a deep breath and turned to Theon, who was shifting in his chair next to her. One look at the satisfied grin on his face hardened her determination and brought a devilish smile to her own, and she turned to raise her lips to a startled Theon’s ear.

“Maybe I don’t want him to be my boyfriend,” she whispered. “Maybe I’d rather try something…different.” She ran one finger slowly up Theon’s arm until she felt the blush coming on, and Theon’s eyes widened. This time it was Sansa’s turn to wink at him.

“That is, if the invitation’s still open,” she whispered, her lips nearly touching his ear. She forced herself not to cringe. Theon’s cat-eating grin returned, and Sansa removed her hand from his arm at once.

“Might be,” muttered Theon and leaned over to reach an arm around Sansa’s shoulders until his hand was resting on her ribs, too close to Sansa’s chest for her liking. His other hand cupped Sansa’s leg just above her knee. Sansa pasted another sweet smile on her face.

“Maybe we should start planning our first date,” she murmured, emphasizing the last word. “Maybe for tomorrow, hmm? Not in such a boring place, though. Maybe the hallway instead?” She raised an eyebrow, and Theon’s grin widened. 

“After you, my lady,” he said, lifting his hand from Sansa’s knee. She sighed with relief and moved silently from chair to chair until she reached the end of the row and tiptoed to the door.

Once they were out in the hallway, Theon grabbed Sansa’s hand with one of his own. He used his other hand to maneuver her back against the wall and moved to slant his mouth across hers. Sansa turned her head away just in time, pivoted on her heels, and used her momentum to push a startled Theon into the closest corner. She drew back her leg and shoved her knee straight into Theon’s crotch. He doubled over and collapsed on the floor at once, and his mouth fell open, but instead of a howl of pain, it emitted only deep, wheezing gasps.

“Don’t do that to Jon again,” she said, her voice shaking. “Don’t go near Jon again. And don’t come near me again, either. Come to think of it, don’t go near anyone in my family again.”

By the end of her speech, her voice had steadied, and so had her gait. She whirled around and marched back into the community room with her chin firmly in the air.

Just as Sansa swept through the door, the middle school students filed through the door at the opposite end of the room. The teachers were resetting the timer and chessboard, and Jon was shuffling off to the audience area with the rest of his high school classmates. Sansa darted across a row of chairs to reach them.

“Jon!” she exclaimed, and he whirled around so quickly that the pencil fell from behind his ear. Sansa bent to pick it up.

“Sorry,” she said as she handed it to him, and Jon shrugged.

“No problem,” he said as he pushed the pencil back into its place. Neither of them said anything for a long moment until Jon, who looked more dour than usual, asked, “Will Gilly have anyone else to help her with the setup tomorrow? For the play?”

Sansa blinked until she remembered the community theater’s spring play, for which she had done most of the artwork and costume design.

“She’ll have me,” she replied. Jon stared at her, confused.

“But you’re going on a date with Theon,” he said. Sansa gaped at him in disbelief.

“No, I’m not!” she exclaimed. “Why in the name of anything halfway decent would I go on a date with that sleazeball?”

The furrows deepened on Jon’s forehead. “But I heard you,” he said. “During the match, I mean.”

Heat flooded Sansa’s face. If Jon had been able to hear that much, had he caught the rest of their conversation? At that rate, it was a wonder he had been able to concentrate on his match at all.

“I – I – ” Sansa cleared her throat. She opened her mouth once, twice, and three times before she could get any words out.

“I said that so I could get him out of the room,” she said at last, “and stop him from distracting you. And don’t worry; he knows now that I wouldn’t touch him with a twenty-foot pole. And – oh, I’m sorry! How did the match go?”

All of the dourness had melted off Jon’s face as Sansa had spoken, and a full smile had replaced it.

“I won,” he said, shrugging. Sam Tarly, standing just behind Jon, rolled his eyes.

“Of course he won,” he said. “He always does.” 

Jon was in the middle of rolling his eyes right back at his friend when Sansa, relieved beyond measure, threw her arms around him.

“Congratulations!” she squealed, much more loudly than she had intended. Jon stood stock still for a moment, but moved both arms to rest tentatively on her back at the same moment someone cleared his throat right in front of them. Sansa and Jon broke apart to see Mr. Mallister glaring at them both. They murmured hasty apologies and fell into the seats immediately behind him. Jon’s face was still red when he turned to Sansa again, reaching up to adjust his pencil as he did so.

“So – well – if you’re not doing anything with Theon – or anyone else,” he said, “do you want to go to Hot Pie’s for dinner before the play tomorrow? Sam and Gilly can’t make it, but I figured – if you still wanted to do it, like before…”

Sansa smiled. Gilly, the other costume designer and a senior at Winterfell High School, had joined her, Jon, and Sam for dinner on the opening night of every community theater production on which they had worked over the past two years. Harry had been furious when Sansa had kept up that tradition with last fall’s production of Romeo and Juliet rather than going to his cross-country practice.

“Of course,” she said at once. Then the rest of Jon’s words sank in. 

“Wait, Sam and Gilly can’t come?”

Jon shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. His gaze darted to the floor before reaching back up to meet Sansa’s. “I mean, if you don’t want to if it’s just us, that’s fine. We can pick another night for all four of us. I just thought if you still wanted to do opening night – well, we should.”

Sansa could only blink. She could just imagine what the gossip mill would grind out once she had been seen going out alone with Jon Snow – 

Then she grinned at him. “I think we should, too,” she replied, and Jon’s face lit up as Sansa had never seen it do before, not even when he had opened the first package of blue pencils she had given him as his secret admirer so long ago. “What time?”

“The usual – five?” Jon offered, and Sansa nodded at once. Jon turned in his seat to face her.

“Thanks for getting Theon out of my hair, by the way,” he said. “If you hadn’t – ”

Sansa shook her head. “You’d still have won,” she said. “You’re the best chess player I’ve met. And sort of the best neighbor. And you deserved it.” She turned in her own seat to face him. “You more than deserved it, Jon Snow.”

Jon’s grin softened. “Well,” he replied, “you’re sort of the best artist I’ve met. And probably the best dancer. And the best Theon-fighter.”

Sansa giggled. “Theon-fighter?”

Jon shrugged. “It’s a skill few people have,” he said dryly, and Sansa laughed again. “So of course, you deserve it too. That is, whatever you want at Hot Pie’s.”

Sansa gave him a pointed look. “You know what you’re setting yourself up for when you say that,” she said, and Jon’s grin widened again. Sansa had always ordered Hot Pie’s Triple Banana Split for dessert after their prior dinners with Sam and Gilly, largely because Harry would give her an odd look on their dates if she ever ordered dessert. Sam and Gilly would usually have a bite or two each, leaving Jon and Sansa to devour the rest.

“Deal,” Jon said, and held out his hand. Sansa shook it, and, as she did, shifted in her chair so she could watch Bran take his next turn at the chessboard. She lost her balance and would have fallen had Jon not reached his arm out to steady her.

“Thanks,” Sansa murmured. She should have let go of Jon’s arm, but it felt so warm and alive and comforting against her own that she kept it wound around his. Jon held his arm up as if waiting for her to let go, but when she did not, he looked at her with the same warm, lopsided grin he’d given her the night they’d danced together at the Valentine’s Day ball – when they’d agreed to be friends and fellow weirdos, as Sansa had put it – except that it was softer, and his eyes were brighter, and his shoulder was bumping up comfortably against hers. Sansa could not hold back another giggle before she leaned her head to rest against it. As she did so, she felt the blue pencil dislodge from behind Jon’s ear and clatter to the floor behind them.

“Oh – I’m sorry!” she exclaimed. She began to get up, but Jon shook his head.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I’ll get it later.”

Sansa shot him an incredulous look, but Jon only gave her that soft, silly grin again, and she nestled back against him at once.

“Deal,” she murmured. She gave him a grin loopier than his own. She supposed she should have been embarrassed, and she supposed she should care about the rumors and whispers the school’s gossip mill would churn out on Monday, and what Harry would say, and what Jeyne would say, but when Jon smiled back, not just his eyes but the entire room lit up, and Sansa stopped caring at all.

And so it was that neither one of them heard Bran calling, “Checkmate.”


End file.
